Falling for Forever (Before Forever)

by Melissa Chambers

  I look up at the ceiling. “Yeah.” Great, now he’s going to think I’m the freaking Virgin Mary and have no clue about anything.

  “She about ripped my balls off when she thought I had something to do with them trying to put her up to it. She wouldn’t let me near her after that. I never even kissed her.”

  She already told me he never kissed her, but somehow hearing it from him is a relief.

  “Anyway,” he says, “I got the definite vibe she wasn’t for sale…not to the cluster girls, and not to any guy. I respect the shit out of that.” He pushes a box out of his way with his foot. “You ready, man?” he asks.

  “Yeah, we can go,” I say.

  “No, I mean, are you ready…for Jenna?”

  I inhale a deep breath, my stomach full of knots. “I think so.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Jenna

  I can’t believe I’m actually considering doing “Blue Sky” for the talent show. It goes against everything I’m about. I’m proud of my pop roots. I need to be strutting around doing what I do best, but so many people have advised me against it—Mrs. Barclay when she gave me this opportunity, Miles, Weston, Shane, even that bitch from the cotillion cluster…although, she could have been trying to sabotage me.

  Shane has been giving me his lunch breaks to help me work it out. I told him he needs to focus on his own song, but he says if Miles is going to keep his act a secret, he’s going to do it as well. So he waits until he gets home to work on his talent show stuff anyway.

  I haven’t told my dad yet. I will…it’s just we haven’t talked about that song since my mom came home when I was ten. It’s like it died with her re-entry into our lives, and I’ve never understood why.

  I can’t play this song at the talent show without my dad knowing ahead of time. Not that I need his permission or anything…but out of courtesy. It’s our song—it belongs to us. Sharing it with the masses is…a step.

  I stole my dad’s acoustic from his music room…an old one he never uses. Shane worked on it for me one night and got it ready. He practically salivated on it before he handed it back to me. Apparently it’s some old classic guitar he’s always dreamed of playing. He did the work for free just to be able to play it that night. I’m paying him back by working with him on his stage fright. To be such a badass guitar player, he’s paranoid to put himself on display. I don’t get it.

  My bag is packed for Chloe’s house tonight. It’s the end of my possessions. Everything else is packed up and ready for the movers tomorrow, along with my bed linens. In fact, when I get home tomorrow morning, the movers should be here loading the truck. Then it will just be a matter of me hopping in the truck with my dad, and we’ll be at our new home in an hour and a half.

  My parents are getting ready to take another load to Nashville. I need to tell my dad I’m doing our song for the talent show next weekend. I feel weird, almost like I’m taking it from us, but I know that’s crazy. He’s going to love it. It may even make him tear up. I know it’s made me tear up more than once since I’ve been practicing it.

  I pick up my dad’s acoustic, sit back down on my bare mattress, and strum on it, making no attempt to be quiet. If you strum it, they will come.

  As I hear footsteps moving my way, I play the opening notes of “Blue Sky” and start in on the verse. My dad appears at my doorway, watching me. As I move into the chorus, my mom appears, and they both come into my room.

  This song has a long guitar solo, and since my playing is way secondary to my singing in this competition, I cut it short, repeating a verse and chorus to stretch. I wrap up the song and rest my arms on the acoustic with a grin. I did better than I thought I would with an audience of two.

  They both clap, but my mom’s expression is strained. She cuts her eyes at my father, but he won’t look at her.

  “That was fantastic, sweetie,” he says. “When did you start playing again?”

  I shrug. “A few weeks ago. Shane’s been working with me on it. I’m doing it for the talent show.”

  My mom raises her eyebrows. “Oh yeah? You’re not doing Ariana Grande?”

  “Ariel Loveall,” my dad says. “She was going to do Ariel Loveall.”

  The tension between the two of them is ballooning. For once in my life, I think I’m smart enough to clue in that whatever is going on between them has nothing to do with me.

  My mom frowns. “That’s an interesting song choice. I wasn’t aware you were an Allman Brothers fan.” She gives me a skeptical tilt of her head to the side.

  What is this, a challenge? I’m not allowed to venture outside of the pop arena? “Yeah,” I say. “Well, not all their songs, but that song, for sure.”

  She looks over at my dad, her lip inching up in a snarl. Jesus, what is going on between them?

  My dad ignores her. “It sounded fantastic. Do it just like that, and you’ll win.”

  I grin. “Thanks, Daddy.”

  I look to my mom for some sort of similar encouragement. She breaks her glare from my dad and meets my gaze. “Yeah. Definitely.” Then she walks out of the room, and my dad puts his forehead in his hand.

  I’d be upset if I wasn’t so freaking confused. I hold my hands out and whisper to my dad, “What the hell?”

  He rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “It’s not you. You sounded incredible.”

  I hear my mom moving about in the next room, so I lean in toward him. “What is wrong with her? She’s acting mental.” More so than usual, but I leave that part to myself.

  He peers into the hallway and then leans back toward me. “We’ll talk later. Now’s not a good time.”

  I give him a look and then concede as she walks past the door. He nods, holding up a finger to me, indicating we’ll talk later.

  I let out a huge sigh, making sure he sees my frustration, but decide to let it go…for now. “Are you sure I should do this instead of Ariel Loveall?”

  He sits on the mattress beside me. “Definitely. Your heart showed through that performance. That’s the beauty of music. I couldn’t be more proud of you.”

  He brings me in for a hug, and I’m so heart-warmed to get his approval. “You’re okay with me doing it?” I ask.

  “I’m more than okay. I’m elated.”

  I huff a laugh. “Good. I want to make you proud.”

  “You always do.”

  Chloe, her mom, and I sit on the couch dipping chips into the orange bowl of fake cheese heaven with one ear to the television and one ear to our own convo. It’s the pre-show, but with Landon starting, he’s relevant enough that they sometimes mention his name in their predictions and statistics, which is probably one of the coolest things ever.

  Chloe’s mom gets a phone call and excuses herself to the patio.

  Chloe puts the television on mute. “Okay, so tell me about…stuff.”

  I’m not sure if I’m ready to talk about stuff. I point to the TV. “You’re going to miss them talk about Landon.”

  She waves her hands. “Who cares. You owe me this. Do you remember the first time after Landon and I messed around down in Destin? I gave you a ton of info.”

  She’s right. I do owe her a little juice. But I’ve never been good at this sex talk stuff…not when it’s about me. I mess with my eyebrows, sort of covering my face as I turn toward the kitchen, trying to gather the guts to start somewhere.

  She grabs my thigh. “Oh my gosh. Who are you? You are like…blushing and embarrassed, aren’t you?”

  “No,” I say, focused on the pigs in blankets in front of us.

  She turns her whole body toward me. “You are totally in love with him.”

  “Shut up,” I say with far less conviction than I should have.

  “You are! You’re like hands down, the most gaga I’ve ever seen you.”

  Hearing her say that makes me even more gaga, waves of tingly heaven surging up through my chest. I raise my eyebrows, still unable to look at her. “You’re nuts. This is totally casual, what he and I h
ave. No big deal.”

  She rests her elbow on the back of the couch. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

  I think she might be. My stomach is crazy in knots when I’m with him and even worse when I’m not. I can’t physically ingest enough Miles.

  I finally meet her smiley gaze. “How did you know when you were ready with Landon?”

  She huffs a laugh at the memory. “I thought I was ready really early on. But I’m glad he held us off for a while. It gave me a chance to dig in deeper with him…really be sure it was right.”

  As I think about what it might be like the moment it actually happens, I cringe a little. “Did it hurt?”

  “Little bit. But it’s okay, especially if he knows what he’s doing.”

  Uh-oh. “I’m pretty sure we’re dealing with a double V situation here.”

  “You’ll figure it out…together.”

  “I guess we’ll have to.”

  She clenches her fists and wiggles around. “Oh, I’m so excited for you!”

  “Thirty seconds till kickoff,” her mom announces.

  Chloe pokes me in the leg, looking straight ahead at the television. I poke her back, and we try to keep from giggling.

  As the game gets underway, we all three squeal every time they show an up close of Landon walking on the field after a play. Sometimes we can barely see him through his helmet, but once on an up-close shot of him, he takes his helmet off and shakes the sweat out of his hair.

  I grab Chloe’s arm and shake it. “Oh my gosh! Look at him. He’s all badass.” I stand up and imitate him, making them both laugh. Then I sit back down. “This is so cool they keep showing him.” I take a handful of popcorn. I’ve already eaten way too much, but Chloe’s mom has chocolate chip cookies in the oven with chocolate kisses on top, so there’s more eating to come.

  “Yeah,” Chloe says sarcastically. “How do you think I felt when it was you on America’s Newest Sensation?”

  I giggle and pop in some corn.

  The quarterback throws a long pass and Landon goes wide, as wide receivers tend to do. He catches the pass just a few steps away from the end zone, and we all scream just as a guy from the Tar Heels jumps him, knocking him to the ground in a thud loud enough to be heard in China.

  We all three gasp, and I’m on my feet from the rush of fear. I turn around to see Chloe’s eyes bulging far out of her head, her face stark white. She grips her mouth with her hands, eyes glued to the television as the players back away, but Landon doesn’t get up.

  “Mom, what’s happening?” she asks, not looking away from the TV.

  Her mom rubs her back. “I don’t know, sweetie. Let’s just wait a minute.”

  We all three watch as the medical team rushes out onto the field, kneeling down next to him, poking and prodding, Landon unmoving. A few seconds later a stretcher is on the field.

  Chloe gasps again, and her mother brings her in tight. I sit on the other side of Chloe, trying like hell to keep it together. Landon’s like a big brother to me. I don’t want to lose him, for Chloe’s sake and my own.

  I hold her thigh flush to mine and rub her knee. As Landon is being carried off the field, Chloe’s mom pulls her phone out of her pocket and makes a call.

  “Derrick?” she asks. “What’s going on?”

  It’s Chloe’s dad. I’m sure he’s at the game with Cynthia. I want to be there for this whole family right now. This can’t be happening. Landon can’t be paralyzed or hurt or concussed or whatever the hell this could be. This is what I get for binge watching Friday Night Lights with Chloe that weekend Landon was at training camp.

  Chloe’s mom hangs up. “Get packed. We’re meeting them at the hospital in North Carolina. Your dad’s going to call when he knows where they’re taking him.”

  Chloe stands on shaky legs, and she and her mom both head to their bedrooms.

  I stand up and look around at all the food…the oven timer about to go off. I head to the kitchen, take the cookies out of the oven, and then turn it off. I text my dad to come get me now, that Landon is hurt. I pack away all the food and look around for what else I can do. I check my phone. No response from my dad.

  I’m heading back to check on Chloe when she comes out of her room, tears streaming. I grab her by the shoulders. “Look at me, Chlo-Jo. He’s going to be fine. He’s Landon. He’s too hot to die young.”

  She tries to smile, but there’s no way.

  I pull her to me and hold her to my chest, our hearts beating in rapid symmetry. “We’re just freaking out because we watched that stupid show. He’s okay. Do you hear me?”

  She sobs, but I can feel her nod against my neck. Her mom comes out of her bedroom with a duffle bag on her shoulder. She looks around at the empty coffee table, the turned-off oven.

  “Thank you, Jenna,” she says.

  I shake my head like it’s no problem.

  “Okay, let’s go. We’ll drop Jenna on the way to the interstate.”

  I check my phone again. Nothing from my dad. I need him right now. Why is he not answering me? “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Stone. My dad’s not responding to my text to come get me.”

  “It’s fine. Get your bags, girls. Let’s go.”

  We arrive at my house, and I jump out of the car. Chloe rolls her window down, tears still streaming. I grasp the doorframe. “He’s okay. You’ve got to believe that.”

  She nods, wiping tears. “I love you,” she says.

  “I love you, too.”

  We squeeze hands, giving each other the best form of a smile we can both muster.

  I let myself in the house and exhale a deep breath. I call my dad but get voice mail. Why is he not answering? I want to put the game on in case they announce anything about Landon’s condition, but the televisions are gone. My dad took them on this load he just made to Nashville. Our sectional is already sold and hauled away. I go to my room and sit on my bare mattress. As the gravity of the day hits me, I let out a sob, which turns into a mountain of ugly cry tears. Landon could be seriously hurt. This just can’t be happening. It can’t be.

  Once I’ve drained my body of all the possible tears it can produce right now, I lay on my back. I check my phone one more time. Nothing.

  I want to call Miles, but I don’t know if I have it in me to tell him what’s happened, to stress the enormity of this situation. My dad will get it with those two words. Landon’s hurt. Why is he not answering the goddamned text?

  I stare at the ceiling, blinking, too worried to check any apps or stream something. I don’t even think our Wi-Fi is hooked up anymore. I cross my hands over my grumbling belly, which is still protesting all the crap I put in it today. I close my eyes and wait for a text from Chloe with an update, or the peace that will allow me to drift off, whichever will come first. I’ll wake up to the news that everything’s okay. It’s got to be.

  The sound of the front door shutting wakes me, and I sit up on my bed. I get my bearings and check my phone for the time. It’s 5:49. Finally, my dad’s home.

  I put my feet on the floor and am getting ready to head into the living room to tell him about Landon, because clearly he still hasn’t seen my text. But the sound of my dad’s harsh voice stops me cold.

  “I can’t believe you can do this to your own daughter,” he says.

  “Oh, you’re so desperate,” Mom says. “Quit trying to manipulate me with that.”

  “I’m not trying to manipulate you. I’m trying to make you see reason. Are you that ready to get away from me that you’ll leave your own daughter during her senior year of high school?”

  I cover my mouth with my hand. I’ve sensed it all along, but even so, all my mental preparation has done nothing to help me swallow this pill.

  “That was the thing,” she says. “She was leaving. She was going to L.A. just like I went to New York when I was her age. But you couldn’t let her go. Or was it that you couldn’t let me go?”

  I cover my pounding heart with my hand. Of course I suspected her support of
me going to L.A. was more about her getting rid of me than her supporting me. But now, an understanding hits me like a bullet in the heart. My dad got me into Nashville’s Academy of Creative Arts, not so that I would stay, but so she would stay.

  “Get over yourself, Annie. You’re a mother.”

  “Oh, trust me. I know that all too well. You’ve only thrown it in my face a couple of thousand times.”

  I guess he has been using his ammo. Did he finally run out?

  “I don’t get you,” he says. “How can you not love your own daughter like a mother should?”

  My chest twists and constricts like a snake is winding around my heart. It’s one thing to think your mother doesn’t love you. It’s another to get confirmation.

  “Don’t you tell me I don’t love my own daughter,” she says, her voice shaky.

  “If you did, it wouldn’t be so easy to leave her.”

  I swipe at my eyes and my nose with a shaky hand. I have nothing to clean myself with. Everything’s packed, and I’m not moving from this spot to go to the bathroom.

  “You think this is easy for me? You think it’s been easy to watch the two of you these past eight years, connecting like Siamese twins? It’s been like the Mack and Jenna show, and I’ve been in the audience waiting for intermission so I can sneak out.”

  I rub my hand along my forehead, a headache building. I don’t know how much longer I can listen to this.

  “Do you have any idea what it’s like to watch your husband bond to your newborn baby, and you don’t feel a goddamned thing?”

  My heart seizes, and I have to cover my mouth with my hand.

  “If you would have stayed on your meds then—”

  “Fuck that medication,” she shouts. “I’m a goddamned musician. It’s my lifeblood. The purpose of that medication is to dull your senses. To even you out. How the hell am I supposed to create music without the right hemisphere of my brain?”

  Medication?

  “We could have kept trying different ones,” he says, his voice pleading.

  “We did,” she shouts. “I tried eleven different medications. I was so goddamned sick of being in that fog of dullness. I wanted to die. Do you hear me, Mack? I wanted to slit my wrists. Would that have been better for Jenna? A dead mom?”